


Center Stage

by sageness



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canon - TV, Cliche, Community: undermistletoe, Gen, Team, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, aliens made them put on a play. *g*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Center Stage

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=undermistletoe)[**undermistletoe**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=undermistletoe)'s cliche-fic day, only a little late. Also, this is cracky gen teamfic. Thanks to [](http://samjohnsson.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**samjohnsson**](http://samjohnsson.dreamwidth.org/) for the speed-beta & to [](http://petra.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**petra**](http://petra.dreamwidth.org/) & Nando for abetting the plan!

  
Word in the market on Teblesh was PX9-44X was the go-to place for fresh produce. Teyla had never been there and Ronon had only gleaned an impression of them as "good farmers" from his travels, but they needed a reliable source of fresh food, so John resigned himself to another dose of crazy Amish with an underground nuclear program and hoped for the best.

When they got there and declared themselves traders, they were whisked off to the center of town—which was familiar Pegasus low-tech, though at least they had wooden cabins instead of tents or yurts—and the meeting house table was soon filled with a large spread of food.

"I always say you should know what you're getting before you buy," said an ample-sized woman in a colorful dress covered by a stained white chef's apron. "You can call me Jeem, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you," said John, gazing at the endless stream of small plates she was putting on the table. Rodney glazed over for a long moment and then suddenly sprang into an explanation of his allergies. Jeem shuffled some plates around after clarifying that the toxic citrus reaction was just Rodney and not endemic to their people, which set Ronon off with a belly-laugh that in turn set Rodney off with his finger in the air and his defensive streak at full throttle. Teyla shared a fond look with John, and Ronon scooped up a yellow-filled tart from a plate in the No-Rodney Zone and ate it in an enormous teasing bite.

Easiest mission ever, John was thinking as he chewed a piece of whole grain bread spread with some kind of warm tangy cheese. It wasn't quite brie, but it was good. Then a middle-aged guy dressed in black strolled in. He looked like a country preacher in an old Western, minus hat, but his face bore the demeanor of an accountant instead of an evangelist. John swallowed and searched for a napkin.

"Hi there," John said as Teyla rose to the occasion, making introductions and praising Jeem's cooking.

"Sano," Jeem said with a meaningful look. "Our guests represent a fair-sized town. Isn't that wonderful?"

John smiled at Sano, nodding. Not that three hundred people counted as a town anywhere he'd ever lived, but Pegasus standards were different, and besides, marines ate a lot.

"What do you bring to offer in trade?" Sano asked, looking around for packs or something, John guessed. He glanced at Teyla and she aimed a smile at the room.

"We could offer a number of different things," she said. "We have medical supplies, or we could provide assistance with technology—perhaps irrigation or well systems—or other expertise. Perhaps we could discuss what you might find most useful."

And so the horse-trading began. It was all great, with John, Rodney, and Ronon gorging themselves at the sample table while Teyla and Sano came to terms. At least until another guy in a black preacher's suit came in, raised his arms high, and declared, "You must not proceed until they have seen the shetaa!"

Ronon's mouth pursed and Teyla's eyebrows went up. "We would be happy to," she said placatingly. John started to murmur to Ronon, "What's a shetaa?" but Teyla glared him quiet before he could get the words out.

Half an hour later, the team was ushered into an amphitheater cut into the side of a hill, where they dutifully took a seat. The mysterious preacher guy had put on a yellow robe. He walked out to center stage and said solemnly, "We do not trade with people who do not share our values. Watch the shetaa, and then the council will decide whether to treat with you."

What a complete tool, John thought, biting his tongue and jabbing an elbow preemptively into Rodney's ribs. He plastered a fake smile on his face and nodded at the preacher guy. "Play it cool," he muttered under his breath at Rodney, who started nodding like an idiot, too.

Moments later, a handful of people in different colored outfits walked out onto the stage and started acting out some kind of play. It didn't make much sense to John and it lasted forever, with people droning on endlessly about the Wraith and how the disobedient must be punished and how having babies was a duty to the Ancestors. Then there was a lot of praying and John stopped feeling vaguely guilty about stereotyping the preacher guy as, well, a preacher guy. Meanwhile, next to him, Rodney squirmed and muttered, and Teyla kicked him while Ronon rumbled, "Shut up and think about having fresh food every day."

Finally it was over, and John stood up to shake hands with somebody official-looking and get the deal moving again. Sano looked awkwardly from the preacher guy to John and scratched his balding head. "Father Dyimas has requested you tell us about your people and what you value. Do you perform shetaa?"

"Er..." John looked at Rodney, because he was standing next to him, but Rodney's eyes had gone huge and panicked and he started shaking his head frantically.

Sano frowned at them, and then the preacher guy, Father Dyimas, rather, strode up. "Then how do you teach your children wrong from right where you come from?" The sneer in his voice was distinctly holier-than-thou in tone and John desperately looked around for Teyla. She rocked at this.

He coughed, stalling for time, and said, "Well, uh, we don't really"

"Television," Rodney interjected. "Or movies. They're similar to this, actually—like a play that's recorded and broadcast for people to watch. I could show you—oh, wait, there's no media on the laptop I have with me right now—but I guess we could come back with some samples if you wanted?"

"Ah," Dyimas said, looking interested. "Perhaps you could simply tell us what lessons you teach."

Rodney's face fell. "Well, in school we teach the full range of math, science, and the humanities"

"But what of moral education?" Dyimas persisted.

Rodney shrugged and looked at Teyla, who had detached herself from Jeem and joined the group. Ronon was laughing behind his hand. "It's really hard to describe?" Rodney tried.

"Then you must show us," Dyimas said. "Sano can find you quarters for the night and you can perform your shetaa tomorrow."

"Oh crap," said Rodney.

"Uh, okay?" said John.

"Thank you," said Teyla.

And Ronon grinned, his eyes glinting at everyone, full of barely restrained mirth.

  
**

  
"This is ridiculous!" Rodney yelled, once they were behind closed doors.

"We do this, we get food," John reminded him. "Maybe even allies if we play it right."

"Allies would be good," Ronon said.

"We could do Star Wars," John suggested. Rodney gaped at him and Teyla buried her face in her hands. "What? It has a moral!"

"So do Star Trek episodes. You don't hear me suggesting we do one of them!"

"We could do the Tale of Nesuka and the Wraith," Teyla said.

"What's it about?" John asked.

"Leader Nesuka convinced my people to abandon our cities and live upon the land where it was safer."

"Yeah, no, that doesn't fit at all," Rodney said.

Ronon looked at them from his perch on the table in the corner. "I was in theater in secondary school on Sateda."

"Dude, really?" John said. He could barely even imagine that.

Ronon shrugged.

"Doing what, set changes?" Rodney asked, and John would have smacked him for his tone, but he was too far away.

But Ronon wasn't fazed. "Musicals, mostly."

"You sing?" asked Teyla and Rodney at once.

"Used to. I still remember a bunch of plays, though."

"Like what?" John asked.

Ronon leaned back. "Epic of Savitt. Battle-siege Solstice. Miasma Agency. These titles mean nothing to you."

"War stories?" John asked.

"Savitt is, yeah. Miasma Agency's a musical comedy."

Rodney choked on the cheese and cracker he was snacking on and had a coughing fit. "Oh god," he said when he could talk again, "maybe we should just make something up."

Christ, they were going to be at this all night. "Okay," said John, "boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy saves girl, the end."

"I beg your pardon," said Teyla. "I say, girl meets boy, Wraith captures boy, girl saves boy and the world from being culled."

John countered, "Team rescues captive and saves the planet together?" They were silent for a moment. "We don't leave anyone behind," John added. "That's a good moral."

"Who's going to play the Wraith?" Ronon asked.

"Who's going to play the captive?" asked Rodney.

"I believe our story will require a narrator," Teyla said.

John looked at Teyla a little desperately. "Maybe you could sing something between scenes? It could be like the Muppet Show."

Her raised eyebrow said enough.

  
**

  
In the morning, they all gathered in the amphitheater. Sano had shown them to the costume closet after breakfast, and now they had an assortment of head-encasing masks and a few items of scenery. The backstage area was just a few benches set behind a few yards of blank stand-up flats. The masks were arrayed. The audience was out there. It was now or never.

It doesn't have to be good, John told himself for the tenth time, quashing terrible memories of junior high speech class.

"Are you sure I have to play the captive?" Rodney asked again. "I am the brilliant scientist, after all. I should be using my superior intellect to rescue one of you!"

"How many times have we rescued you, McKay?" Ronon asked.

Rodney folded his arms over his chest. "Rodney, Ronon," said Teyla, in her 'stop being ridiculous' voice.

"Come on, guys. Let's get this over with," John said. He put on the Narrator's mask, a huge headdress with a sort of lion's face and mane, if lions were blue. The amphitheater was nearly full, meaning there were several hundred people up there staring down at him in expectation. John swallowed and pretended he was in a room full of marines. Only, that was when he caught sight of Father Dyimas' avid expression and choked. Right. He took a breath and paced across the stage and back, waiting for the crowd to shut the hell up. The acoustics here seemed pretty good, but he wasn't going to shout.

"Okay," he said, finally. "We aren't entirely sure if this is what you wanted, but it's what we've got." He turned to the side, stretching an arm out to the other side of the stage. Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon came forward, fully geared up for a mission. Rodney started to speak, and John ran backstage, ditching his mask, and around to the other side to catch up to them.

"There are some fascinating energy readings on this world. I wonder if there are people here?" said Rodney in faux naivete.

"I do not know," answered Teyla. "This is not a world my father told me stories of."

John arrived then, hair half-smashed to his head, falling into step behind Ronon. "At least it's a nice day for a hike."

Rodney stopped, turning on cue. "Right. You would think so, wouldn't you, Colonel? Meanwhile some of us have important things we could be accomplishing if we didn't have to walk so far!"

John looked up at Ronon. "You want to scout ahead a little while McKay takes a breather?"

Ronon grunted, "Sure," and jogged off.

"You doing okay? John asked Teyla.

She smiled. "I am well. I do not mind physical exertion." The overt leer in her eye surprised John, and there was a round of deep chuckles from the audience. John hoped sex wasn't one of the things Father Dyimas was a fundamentalist about.

"We could do a team movie night tonight when we get home," John ad-libbed.

Rodney noisily swallowed water from his canteen, or possibly it was coffee. John wouldn't put it past him. "Assuming we're home tonight, yes."

"Then tomorrow," Teyla said, and then yelled, "Wraith!" with a suddenness that jolted John's hind-brain and sent his heart racing, even though it was just a stupid skit.

"Where?" Rodney said, turning in a circle and fumbling his canteen into his vest.

"Run!" yelled John. Ronon was barreling up from the opposite direction he'd gone scouting in. He was wearing a grotesque Wraith mask with long white yarn for hair.

John and Teyla crouched at the edge of the stage, guns out and yelling, "Bang! Bang!" while Ronon scooped Rodney up, threw him over his shoulder, and ran back the way he had come. Rodney was shrieking, "Help! Help!" the whole time.

Seconds later, Ronon appeared at the other side of the stage, sans mask, saying, "There's nothing up ahead, Sheppard." He looked at them. "What's wrong?"

"The Wraith took Rodney!" Teyla wailed.

John nodded, silently biting his lips against laughter.

Ronon clouted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll get him back."

With the Narrator's mask back on, John took center stage. "The Wraith took Rodney back to his ship and locked him in a cell," he intoned. Then Rodney and Teyla stretched out an eight foot by eight foot black cloth on the ground to represent the cell.

When Teyla and John went to the wings to watch, Rodney took a seat in the middle of the cloth, arms folded around his knees. John noticed he'd stripped his gear off, too. "They're going to eat me!" he said to the crowd, and then scowled at the applause that won him. "They might even torture me! They may even take me to the queen for her to read my mind and find out where I live. Then the Wraith could eat all my friends and loved ones. And, look! They took all my tools and weapons, so I can't break out of this cell!"

John grinned softly at Rodney's open sincerity. A few beats of silence passed. "Gosh," said Rodney, "I sure hope my team," he paused, glaring at John, "shows up to rescue me soon!"

Laughing, John jogged backstage. This time he wore the Wraith mask.

When the Wraith appeared on stage, Rodney scooted to the far corner of his makeshift cell. "I'm very important, you know. Eating me would be a crime against humanity! Literally!" That got a few laughs, and then Rodney yelped as John pulled him to his feet.

"The queen wants to see you," John hissed.

"Meep!" said Rodney, and John pushed him out of the cell.

Then Ronon appeared, blaster out. "McKay!" he yelled, and Rodney dove to the ground.

"Bang!" shouted Ronon and Teyla, weapons-free, and John fell to the ground, twitching. They repeated "Bang!" a really excessive number of times until Rodney got up and said, "Where's Sheppard?"

"He is keeping the queen occupied," Teyla said.

Rodney stared at her and then looked at the audience. "Great, so now we have to go rescue him!"

Then they went backstage, John put on the Narrator mask again, and went out one last time. "And then the team got Sheppard out of the queen's evil clutches, and McKay and Sheppard got them all off the hive ship while Ronon and Teyla set explosives and killed a lot of Wraith. They got home in time for dinner, after all, and then they kicked back and relaxed for their weekly team movie night. The end."

The applause was gratifying, even if Father Dyimas' comments about their failure to venerate the Ancestors appropriately were not. But when Sano and Jeem insisted on a council vote, trade with Atlantis passed eight to one.

  
**

  
After they got home and debriefed, Rodney said, "So, movie night? Or was that only a line for the thing?"

John looked from him to Teyla and Ronon. "Sure, I could do that."

Rodney relaxed visibly. "Great, I have popcorn."

"Cool," John said. "I have Star Wars."

Ronon snorted, and Teyla said, "I believe it is my turn to choose."

"Okay," John said. "What do you feel like?"

She smiled across the table at him brightly. "I wish to see a play."

"Awesome," said Ronon, getting to his feet. "I'll bring beer."

"Uh, any idea which play?" John asked, hoping like hell it wasn't something like Richard III or freaking Waiting for Godot.

"You will see," she answered and left the conference room.

Rodney met John's gaze. "At least she didn't pick a Swedish art film?" Rodney said.

"There is that."

In the end, she gave them a choice between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and a marathon of Slings and Arrows. Ronon wanted both, so they started with R&G and watched the beginning of Slings and Arrows' first season. John opened his third beer to the sound of Rodney answering yet another question about Canadian television from Ronon. If Ronon ever moved to Earth to become a film director, John thought the world, or at least Hollywood, was doomed—and it would be awesome. Teyla cued up the next episode while the guys argued, and John fixed another plate from the bag of goodies Jeem had pressed on him when they'd left, settling in for more.

 


End file.
